Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (17 page)

“Even your good looks and soothing voice had no effect on that woman’s disposition, William. Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Stephen said and stifled a laugh as they all watched her march off towards the kitchen muttering to herself.

After she left, William said, “That woman has served one too many pitchers of ale. Her face would sour fresh milk. Have you ever seen such an uncomely woman?”

“Only once before,” Bear said. “My Aunt Finney. The snuff she dipped, among other things, made her hard on the eyes. I’ll tell ye though, she could spit further than any man I ever knew.”

“I’ve never known a woman that dipped snuff and spit,” William said. “That had to be something to see.”

“Will ye look at that old fellow now. He looks passing strange,” Bear said.

Stephen glanced in the direction Bear indicated. A long scar ran across the man’s weathered face, well into a graying beard that nearly reached to his waist. He wore greasy leather leggings and tall old boots.

“What’s that stuck in his hat?” William said. “Let’s invite him over here. He might prove entertaining.” William stood and strode over to the man’s table.

Stephen shook his head in disapproval while the others found William’s typical behavior amusing. “He’ll never learn to mind his business,” he grumbled.

“Sir, my brothers and I wondered if you would care to join us for a drink. We’ve traveled a fair distance and thought you might have some news of the frontier,” William told him.

“Thank you sonny. I’d appreciate the company of some educated men,” he said, his gray-blue eyes twinkling. He stood, without straightening his back completely, and slowly followed William back to their table.

Despite his age, the man appeared to possess strength and carried himself with an air of self-confidence. Stephen suspected that although the older man may have slowed down, if pushed, he would be able to take care of himself.

Sam pulled up another chair. “Have a seat.”

“My name’s Possum Clark,” he said as he sat down.

“Mine’s William Wyllie. This is my older brother, Captain Sam, my younger brother Stephen, and our adopted brother Bear. You can probably guess why he’s called Bear.”

“That I can. But I bet you can’t guess why they call me Possum Clark,” he cackled.

“You like to eat possum,” Bear offered.

“Nope.”

“You only come out at night?” Sam asked.

“Nope.”

“Because you hunt a lot of possums?” William suggested.

Possum shook his hairy head.

When Possum turned to him, Stephen just shook his head and took a long sip of his ale.

“It’s clear you boys ain’t going to figure this one out so I’ll just have to tell you. When I was about this young one’s age,” he said, nodding at Stephen, “I was one of the first white men west of the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe the first Christian man on some of those mountains. The thrill of walking on soil on which the foot of a civilized man has never trodden is beyond comparison, like walking in the Garden of Eden, ‘cept I had no Eve. Although, not having a woman like Eve, always serving up temptation, may be a blessing, but I’m digressing.” He stopped to take a long swig of his ale. “Well one cloudy foggy morning, I set about putting beaver traps by a river near the base of this mountain. The water was icy cold and a first snow dusted every tree and scrub. All of a sudden behind me, I hear the timber cracking, branches snapping, dead
trees falling, like an avalanche breaking everything in its path—only there was no avalanche. The timber and brush were as thick as that hair on Bear’s head so I couldn’t see a darn thing. The next I know, a son-of-a-buck Grizzly faced me with a look on his face I hope never to see again. This old bear stood at least eight foot tall and weighed as much as five, maybe six, men. He opened his mouth and roared at me like the King of the forest. And I guess he was the King, ‘cause I sure felt like a lowly peasant about to die right then.

“Now I had heard many theories about what to do if ever a Grizzly confronts you in the wild. One is to yell back at him and wave your arms around. But I was afraid my yell would sound more like a damn whimper. No use trying to run, they can make tracks faster than a horse. Trying to shoot them up close like that is risky. If you don’t shoot them right between the eyes, you’re just going to make ‘em mad. One fella, he tried to shoot the Grizzly that got him. All they found of him was his rifle broke plum in two, a bloodied hatchet, and bear droppings. Another theory is to lie down and play dead. Although it goes contrary to what a normal man is inclined towards, I decided on that course of action, mainly ‘cause my knees weren’t working so well at the time. So I lay face down and acted just like a possum playing dead. That damned rascal sniffed me up one side and down the other. I could feel his hot breath on my skin. With each snort through his nostrils, I thought I would feel those razor sharp long claws ripping my flesh apart, his teeth crushing my bones. Even though it was cold enough to freeze bacon, I was sweating in my buckskins. I guess he decided I wasn’t a threat to him, or he didn’t like the smell of me, or maybe I was just lucky and he’d already gorged on a big breakfast, but he moved off, toward the hills.” Possum pointed in the direction the bear evidently went and everyone seemed to take a breath at the same time.

“And I was lucky it weren’t a she bear. A she Grizzly will attack
viciously if she has cubs anywhere around. Of course, I had to tell the story of my narrow escape at the Rendezvous with the other trappers that spring.” Possum paused to laugh and cough for a bit. “They gave me the name Possum after that.”

“What’s that in your hat?” Stephen asked.

“It’s a possum tail of course,” Possum said, laughing again. “Reminds me every day how lucky I am to be alive. Be happy while you’re living boys, because you’re not far from dead.”

After the story of the old mountain monarch, Possum Clark gave the men more sage advice, describing the best routes, road conditions, and possible dangers. Having traveled to and from Kentucky six times since he’d been a trapper, he knew the route like an old friend. Captain Sam learned long ago to navigate by the stars, but the more information they had the better since they would travel by day.

Stephen borrowed quill and ink from the tavern owner, who was much more cordial than his wife. He felt sorry for the man yoked to such a sour woman. He pulled paper from his waistcoat pocket and, with Possum’s help, wrote down the names of towns and villages and landmarks to look for, making a careful list for future reference.

As they stood to leave, William said, “Thank you, Sir, for a most entertaining discussion.”

“You have been a valuable source of information, Mr. Clark,” Stephen said, as they bid the trapper farewell. “We thank you kindly, Sir.”

“Glad I could help. Return the favor someday yourself to some needy soul,” Possum said. “The frontier is full of opportunities to help your fellow man. Don’t pass ‘em by. You never know when you may be the one in need of help.”

As they all stood to leave, Possum said, “One last piece of advice boys. There’s a good chance one or more of you may die on this trip. The rest of you will have to go on. That’s the way it is out there. Just as this beautiful country goes on and on, so does life. Keep moving west, towards the sunset. Some of us just get there sooner than others.”

CHAPTER 18

A
s daylight surrendered to night, every passing minute changed the sky from shades of blue to a soft array of violets, giving a dreamy quality to the evening. A luminous crescent moon glowed bright on the horizon while a warm breeze stroked the strings of tall pines and lush hardwoods, playing a soothing melody for the couple as they strolled.

Jane’s beauty was the only thing challenging the stunning scenery. To Stephen, she appeared more radiant than ever. He’d never grow tired of looking at her.

A seemingly endless variety of fragrant flowers, vines, and ferns wove their way between dogwoods, pines, and large rocks painting a colorful foreground for the surrounding slopes and mountains beyond. She bent to pick a flower. Its velvety petals reminded him of her lips.

“Have you ever seen a more peaceful place?” she asked. “Could there be any place in the world more breathtaking?”

“It’d be worthless to a cattle man—too many trees, boulders, and rock. I wouldn’t pay ten cents an acre for this land.”

Jane turned and lifted her chin. “Who said anything about cattle? I was just talking about the beauty of this place.”

Mystified as to why his comment about land annoyed her, he took a quick breath and then shrugged. She was volatile by nature, and sometimes he struggled to understand her shifts in mood. “My point is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, even when it comes to land. I admit, the scenery is pleasant here, but it’s not what I need.”

“Sometimes, you’re too focused on the future and don’t just enjoy the now.”

“My duty is to think about our future. A man cannot do justice to the present if he doesn’t make plans for tomorrow.”

“What do you mean ‘do justice to the present’?”

“I believe every person has both a present and a time yet to come. If we don’t prepare for that time to come, we may lose now.”

“Why?” Jane asked.

“Every moment of the future is linked to what we do with our lives
now
.”

“Don’t miss the present while you’re taking care of what’s coming. What good is a future without a present? Someday you’ll look back and wish you still had the past you missed. Let’s just take joy in this day.”

She had a point. “All right. All right. Give me your hand. We’ll walk awhile.”

They strolled in silence further from the camp. The moon, now higher in the sky, shimmered with the softness of candlelight.

“Do you miss home?” Jane asked.

“I miss our comfortable bed and what we did in it.” He raised a brow and grinned. He wasn’t being very subtle. But the truth was he did miss it. Some of the best times of his life had been in that bed.

“We can’t do much about the bed, but maybe we can manage to do something about the other.” Her eyes twinkled wickedly.

“You were right about enjoying the now,” he said, laughing. “But first, do you miss home?” Worried about what her answer would be, he waited anxiously for it. He wasn’t sure how he would feel if she was truly homesick. Could he turn around, go back, if she asked him to? No, he could not.

“Honestly, yes, exceedingly. How could I not? You made this decision and while I will have to live with it, I ache for our home sometimes. I miss little things. Like sitting on the porch and sipping tea out of mother’s china. Bomazeen made me break that cup. When it shattered, maybe my future there shattered too. That’s all a part of my past now, buried forever.” She moved closer and smiled up at him. “Yes, I miss all we left behind, but my future belongs with you. And so does the present.” Her voice underlined the word ‘present’ as she dropped her cloak to the ground.

She kissed him softly and he savored the warmth and softness of her full lips.

Jane pulled his powder horn’s strap over his head and leaned their rifles against a tree.

He watched, mesmerized, as she removed her gown and hung it on a nearby Hickory limb. His pulse kicked up and his breathing quickened as she shed her stays and petticoats, revealing her shapely form.

He stared. How gorgeous she appeared at that moment. Her hair shining in a shaft of soft moonlight, her sumptuous lips
speaking without words. Her soft ivory shoulders and the fullness of her cleavage beckoning him. She was exquisite, enthralling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, as she stepped into his embrace.

His fingertip tenderly traced the outline of her gentle, but proud face, committing every detail to memory. Her pale smooth complexion seemed almost translucent in the moonlight. Red-gold ringlets curled on her forehead and her lashes swept down against her pink cheekbones. Then she glanced up and he gazed deep into the shining emeralds of her eyes, bright with her growing desire. Her enticing lips, full and rosy, parted at his touch. He kissed his fingertip and then ran it across her lower lip.

He caressed her lovely long neck and planted a soft kiss at the hollow beneath her throat. Then he drew his finger slowly across the full curve of one breast and then the other. They felt firm and soft at the same time, and he marveled at their allure.

She trembled in his arms and released a soft sigh.

Using both hands, his intimate exploration continued. He caressed her back, pulling her closer as his fingers inched down until he reached her waist. Then he ran both hands over her hips and down her thighs, feeling a tremor ripple inside her.

And every place her fingers touched heated and produced a pleasurable sensation until it was time to yield to the passion that embraced them both.

Stephen removed his clothing, his eyes never leaving her, while she spread her cloak across a bed of pine needles. The soft breeze, gently caressing his bare skin felt cool, but not enough to dampen his heated body.

As a precaution, he laid his loaded pistols nearby and positioned
their rifles on either side of them.

Then he joined her on the cloak and wrapped his arms around her. He enveloped her in love, possessively, protectively, wanting to bring her close to his heart. He savored the feeling of just holding her.

She tilted her head back, opened her lips, and he kissed her—a kiss as deep and powerful as his need for her. He sensed her deep hunger in the fervor of her kiss and it only added fuel to his mounting desire.

He tenderly kissed the sensitive spot below her ears before gently nibbling on her neck and then her shoulder. As he lowered his lips to the curves of her chest, she moaned pleasurably. But he took his time, enjoying every minute.

Her body was luscious and the taste and feel of her stirred him even further. He reached down and found her soft round bottom. Filling his hand with it, he pressed her against him. Another moan, this one deeper, more urgent.

She ran her hands through his hair and down his back, then she gripped his hips, drawing him still closer, hugging him even tighter.